by Allan Cole
He nodded at the stairs, where the women were already tromping down, sleepy-eyed and cranky at being awakened so early. “And some more beds, too. Lots more beds!"
Tabusir pounded the bar and laughed as if Hazan had just told the greatest jest. “Ain't that th’ truth,” he said. “Only goes to show that sometimes it pays to lose th’ war!"
Hazan joined in the laughter. Then they heard the loud voices approaching and a moment later the first wave of enemy sailors burst into the room. And they kept coming. And coming. Until Hazan and the women were hard pressed to keep up with the various desires of all the lusty, thirsty sailors.
Tabusir made himself companionable. Buying drinks, telling jokes, nodding in sympathy when the sailors griped about their officers who overworked them without mercy. Most of them said they preferred their previous lives as pirates. Although they allowed the pay in their former careers wasn't as good—and was certainly more chancy.
"But at least a pirate's a free man,” one sailor said. “And he's got a say in how the ship's run. But all we do is drill and train and patrol. Like we was in a real navy, or somethin'."
The name that seemed to come up the most was that of Lord Coralean—a name well-known to Tabusir. And the drunker the sailors got the more they cursed the caravan master. As near as Tabusir could make out, Coralean was generous with his gold, but was entirely too domineering for these men—all criminals who'd fled Coralean's brand of regimentation long ago.
"It's even worse since he cut out the Nepenthe and sent it off on some godsforsaken mission,” said one sailor, who sounded a little more educated than the others. “Now we have more area to patrol and they're working us like slaves."
Although he didn't show it, Tabusir was most interested in this bit of information. It answered the question about the missing ship. He plied the man with more drink and when the fellow tried to hire the services of a pretty whore and came up short of cash, Tabusir kindly made up the difference.
In return, he learned some things that turned those few coppers into a fat purse of gold.
* * * *
Miser though he was, King Rhodes did not begrudge a single coin of the eventual reward he gave the handsome young spy. Why, it was easily worth half his treasury.
Although he certainly didn't tell Tabusir that when he stood tall and straight before him, delivering his news.
"I confirmed the report in several other taverns,” Your Majesty,” Tabusir assured him. “And then I went up the coast to visit some other ports and the story was the same."
Kalasariz stirred in his nesting place within the king. Press him some more, the spymaster said to Rhodes. Safar Timura is a very cunning man. It could be one of his tricks.
"My only hesitation,” Rhodes said to Tabusir, “is that you seem to have come by this information so easily. This isn't just a leak of the Kyranian plans, but a damned big floodgate you have opened."
Tabusir nodded. “That's a good caution, Your Majesty. And I thought the same thing myself. Which is why I visited those other places, instead of coming directly here. The thing is, Majesty, these sailors have no loyalties. They're for hire to the highest bidder. And no matter what their superiors might say, they don't feel beholden to any master or cause."
Kalasariz mental-whispered: Even so...
Rhodes took the cue. “Even so, the events you described could have been staged for our benefit. And purposely leaked to the sailors."
Tabusir shook his head. “Forgive me, Majesty, but I don't believe so. The story was given out by Lord Coralean that Nepenthe was only assigned a different mission—a mission that still involved the blockade. The idea was that the Nepenthe would become a roving ship, going wherever the captain thought necessary to stop any supplies or weapons getting through to us.
"However, one of the Nepenthe's crew was badly injured shortly after she took sail. The captain thought the sailor was dying anyway and sent him back."
Kalasariz wasn't satisfied. That's pretty damned humane, of the captain, don't you think, majesty?
Rhodes agreed. “Why didn't the captain just let him die?” he asked Tabusir. “And throw the body over the side. That's what I'd do, rather than risk security."
"So would I, Your Majesty,” Tabusir said. “But sailors are very superstitious. Especially this lot. I think the captain didn't want to spook the rest of the crew. Or, maybe it was Coralean. In either case, they thought it best to accept the risk. The injured man looked near as dead. How could they know he'd have a miraculous—and, for them, unlucky—recovery?
"In fact, Majesty, the man was a malingerer and a coward. First, he hears that the Nepenthe is sailing away from Syrapis for parts unknown. Then the Kyranian airship joins them. Coward though he might be, the man's no fool. It's obvious to him that if the Kyranian land forces are willing to part with the airship, something desperate—and quite dangerous—must be in the wind.
"So he injures himself—but not that badly—and takes a potion to give him a fever. So he'd look like he was at death's door. It's an old sailor's trick—well-known to this band of criminals.
"Then the moment he's returned to the fleet he takes an antidote. Recovers. And then goes off with his companions to drink and talk like, well ... like a drunken sailor, Majesty!"
Kalasariz mental whispered: Admirable logic!
Rhodes nodded. “Well done!” he said to Tabusir. He took a heavy, gem-encrusted ring from his finger and gave it to the young spy. “Take this to the Treasurer,” he said with a wide smile. “And turn it in for whatever it's worth."
Tabusir was well pleased. He dropped to the floor and knocked his head against the pavement, thanking Rhodes profusely. Then he took his leave.
But just before the guards escorted him out, he turned back.
"Pardon, Majesty, but there's one other thing..."
"Yes?” Rhodes asked.
"There's a tavern at the port run by a man named Hazan."
"What of him?” Rhodes wanted to know.
"He's a traitor, Majesty,” Tabusir said. “And no friend of Hanadu's."
Rhodes shrugged. “What do I care what a lowly tavern keeper thinks, or does?"
Tabusir nodded. “I understand, Majesty. Only ... I was thinking ... if you were to quietly do away with him ... then substitute one of your spies ... Well, the tavern is an excellent place for intelligence, Majesty, and..."
He let the rest drift away. It was too obvious, in to his mind, and might bore the king.
"That's good advice, young Tabusir,” Rhodes said. “I'll think on it.” And he waved a hand, dismissing him.
Tabusir bowed low and exited.
Kalasariz said: I quite like the cut of that fellow. Reminds me of myself when I was just getting started in the spy business.
Rhodes said, “Should I promote him?"
Yes, yes, Kalasariz replied. An excellent idea. But we should keep him close to us, hmm? He'd be useful for, shall we say, very personal errands?
The king thought this excellent advice. Then, armed with Tabusir's intelligence, he descended the long dark stairs to consult his mother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE IMPS OF FOREBODING
For several weeks all was peaceful aboard the Nepenthe. The ocean was calm, the wind a sailor's dream. Brutar, the aptly-named captain of the ship, eased off on his men and the crew became less surly and settled into a somewhat more orderly routine.
The sea teemed with life. They sailed through enormous schools of fish, some of which were quite exotic and so colorful it was like sailing through a magical artist's pallet. Reds and greens and yellows flowing by in an endless stream.
Once they saw a huge crocodile chasing the fish and the colors spurted in all directions as they fled its gaping jaws.
The birds became so used to the Nepenthe that they grew quite tame—settling on the rails and mast spars within easy reach. The sailors thought this a good omen and started feeding them by hand.
It became a common but alway
s comical sight to see a burly, scarred ex-pirate cooing over a seahawk as he tenderly fed it bits of biscuit and salt-beef.
Leiria and Jooli kept busy exercising the young Kyranian soldiers who had joined the expedition. Leiria and Palimak had hand-picked the lads, being sure to include Renor and Sinch who had proved themselves in many battles and were corporals now. She'd also brought along Sergeant. Hamyr, a grizzled old warrior with much experience to keep all the lads in line.
There'd been so many volunteers that Safar had assembled the entire army to console all those being left behind. And to remind them that the safety of their families and friends was at stake.
Safar suspected the sight of the twenty crack soldiers being put through their paces by the two magnificent warrior women had a little to do with the more friendly attitude of Captain Brutar and his crew.
Not only was the Kyranian equipment the best they'd seen, but the fighting tricks that the Kyranians displayed were enough to give any potential mutineer pause.
And, of course, there was the ever-present airship hovering over the Nepenthe. Some of the sailors had witnessed Biner and his circus folk in battle in the past—raining death from the sky—and word soon spread that they were to be feared even more than the soldiers.
Every once in a while Safar trotted Khysmet out of the comfortable stable he'd had specially constructed for him. First he'd have the men create a small arena on the main deck, covering the wood with a thick layer of sand to make the footing easier for the stallion. Then, with the help of Leiria and a few of the soldiers, he'd put on a thrilling one-horse cavalry display.
Weaving and bobbing in the saddle, while wielding a wooden sword. Ducking completely beneath Khysmet and coming up on the other side, like a warrior from the great plains of Esmir. Or rearing the stallion back onto his hind legs and letting him paw the air with his steel-shod hooves as if Khysmet were fighting off attacking infantrymen.
It always made for a good show and further strengthened the wary respect the sailors had for the Kyranians.
After awhile Safar felt confident enough to leave the Nepenthe and spend some time with his old friends aboard the airship. Sometimes Palimak came with him, sometimes Leiria or Jooli. But he always made certain that at least two of his commanders remained on the ship to keep watch on the seamen.
Traveling in the airship took him back to the carefree days of his youth when Methydia had rescued him from the desert. He recalled those times while scudding through empty skies like a cloud, watching the world pass beneath his feet. Standing at the rail, looking down at the small, sea-bound figures aboard the Nepenthe. Or simply sprawling on the deck, surrounded by friends and talking over old times and adventures.
The circus folk never forgot their true life's purpose, which was entertainment. They were always rehearsing or trying out new tricks. Sometimes Safar would join them and for an hour or so he could imagine he was one of them again. Sailing across Esmir, staging shows at festivals, fairs, small towns ... wherever the winds took them.
It was only during these impromptu moments that Safar could forget the nature of his mission and the heavy responsibility he had to all those who'd agreed to help him. But more than anything, it made him forget how alone he was.
It was a state of being that was entirely his own fault. Ever since his escape from the spellworld he'd kept a careful emotional distance from everyone. Especially from Palimak and Leiria. He made sure he was never alone with either one of them. He wasn't certain why he found this necessary, except that he was edgy about engaging in talk that went beneath the surface.
Safar could tell they were both a little bewildered by this, although they hadn't had a chance as yet to think on it and be hurt.
Sometimes, late at night, he'd think about his dilemma. Pick and poke at it like a child toying with a small wound.
Oh, he loved them both, there was no doubt about that. And there was nothing he wanted more than to embrace his son and be a father to him once again. Or to draw Leiria close and seek her kisses and warm comfort again as he had so many years before when they had been lovers.
But for some reason he felt awkward with them—no, not awkward. That was definitely the wrong word. What was it then?
And then one night the answer came to him: He felt as if he'd somehow betrayed them.
But why? This made no sense. He'd never done anything to harm them. And would never dream of doing so.
Or would he?
When he thought that, he became fearful. Alien to himself. As if there were another part of him—a part he'd never known about before—that lurked in the shadows ... waiting. To do what, he couldn't say. Except this other part had no love for Palimak and Leiria. And did not want the best for them.
As soon as he thought that he suddenly became very calm. The strangeness vanished and he drank down his wine, feeling whole again.
Odd, how the mind played tricks on itself when the wine was deep and the hour late.
* * * *
Other people noted Safar's forced solitude. One of them was Jooli.
She found herself powerfully attracted to this strange man with eyes as blue as the seas they sailed upon. Back at the Kyranian fortress she'd seen the young women approach him, but to no avail.
At the time it had puzzled her that Safar was able to resist their advances. On the other hand, she didn't sense that he preferred men or boys over women.
Not that this would've seemed odd to her. In Syrapis, there were many men who quoted the old saying: “Women are for babies, boys are for pleasure."
Just as there were many women who sang the merry little tune: "It is our duty, misses,/ to breed a mighty army;/ but we save our best kisses/ for our sisters who bliss us;/ and know all men to be barmy!"
Since they'd met, Jooli had given Safar no indication of her interest. After all, it would be unseemly for a royal person to express such sentiments—unless she was certain they'd be returned.
However, during the early weeks of the voyage, when she'd consumed more wine than normal, Jooli had found herself pacing the deck outside her stateroom as restless as a she-tiger in season.
She kept thinking how handsome Safar was. The dark, curly hair. The boyish grin. The startling blue eyes beneath mysterious brows. The ripened lips. The strong neck and torso. And those cursedly graceful legs, revealed when he carelessly crossed them and his tunic rode high.
Adding even stronger spice was the magnetic aura of his wizardry. She'd never met anyone who possessed such powers. To embrace a man like that would be like embracing a storm. Witch joined to wizard loin to loin. The images were a sleep-disturbing aphrodisiac of the worst sort.
One night she encountered Leiria on the deck, who was doing a bit of pacing of her own. Immersed in her own hot-blooded thoughts, Jooli at first didn't recognize the similarities of Leiria's symptoms.
Casual talk soon turned more personal. “I'm not one who impresses easily,” Jooli said. “But I've certainly grown to admire Lord Timura."
"There's much to admire,” Leiria agreed. “Good people are never disappointed when they come to know him better. You can't go wrong if he gives you his friendship."
Jooli nodded. “I thought as much.” She hesitated, then, “I'll be blunt,” she said. “Woman to woman, I find it strange that no one shares his bed. Is he some sort of priest who has taken a vow of celibacy?"
Leiria smiled. “Nothing like that,” she said.
Jooli frowned. “He has no wife?"
"No."
"No one he's betrothed to?"
"Never in his life."
Jooli hissed with exasperation. “What's wrong, then?” she asked. “Every man of his rank and prestige I've ever known had whole harems to pleasure them."
Leiria's eyes took on a faraway look as she thought about this. Absently, she said, “Safar could have that as well.” Then she nodded, as if coming to a conclusion. “But he's definitely a one-woman man."
Then Jooli noticed moisture forming in her
friend's eyes when Leiria added, “He found that woman a long time ago. But she died."
"If you mean Methydia,” Jooli said, “I've heard that tale from the circus folk. But I also got the idea that although he loved her—and she loved him—it wasn't a permanent thing. An older woman ... a sorcerous mentor ... a passing fancy for the two of them."
"That's true,” Leiria said. Her voice was soft, memory going back over the years to her first meeting with Safar. Then, so faint Jooli could bare hear her: “Although I didn't realize that in the beginning."
Leiria's eyes hazed over as her mind flashed back to that time so many years ago...
* * * *
When Leiria awoke she found herself nestled in the crook of Safar's arm. Ever so gently, he was trying to disentangle that arm. Feeling warm and loving, she smiled at him. Pulling him closer, wanting to give him more of what they'd enjoyed all night. But Safar was tense. She sensed that he felt like he was betraying another.
Safar disengaged from her politely, but firmly. “I have duties to attend to,” he said.
At first Leiria pouted. Then she giggled and got up, saying, “I mustn't be selfish and take all your strength, my lord."
Faint as his answering smile was, Leiria loved it. The intensity of her feelings surprised her. Not long before she'd been the warrior concubine of King Protarus. How could she fall in love with another so quickly? Embarrassed, and confused, Leiria arose hastily and pulled on her clothes.
But she couldn't help but comment, letting words flow without guard. “You called out another woman's name in the night,” she said.
Leiria made certain her tones were light, but she couldn't hide the hurt. She saw Safar's eyes flicker, sensing her pain. And she loved him all the more because of that.
Safar said, “I'm sorry."
Leiria forced an oh-so-casual shrug. “I don't mind,” she said. “It's good that your heart is faithful."
